Crisp roasted wheat crackers
Khakhra are thin chapaties roasted slowly on a griddle until they turn crisp, like a cracker. This masala version adds gram flour, fresh fenugreek, turmeric and chilli to the wheat dough. They are a light Gujarati breakfast or tea-time snack, and lovely with pickle, chutney or a smear of butter. You can also make them in a roti maker.
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Banana pudding is the potluck and barbecue-joint dessert of Tennessee, the Carolinas and Mississippi, scooped from a deep dish next to the pulled pork. Vanilla wafers, sliced bananas and a stove-top custard are layered so the biscuits soften to cake, then the top is finished with toasted meringue the old-fashioned way. Chef's tip: pour the custard on while it is still warm so it seeps into the wafers.
Georgia calls itself the Peach State, and in June and July roadside stands around Fort Valley sell peaches by the basket for this summer cobbler. In the old Southern style, a simple batter is poured over melted butter, then the peaches go on top; as it bakes the batter rises up around the fruit into a golden, cakey crust with crisp edges. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream. Chef's tip: don't stir after the peaches go in; the layers sort themselves out in the oven.
Chess pie is the plain-pantry pie of Virginia, Kentucky and the Carolinas, made with nothing but butter, sugar, eggs and a spoonful of cornmeal, so it was baked year-round when there was no fruit. It sets into a rich, translucent custard with a crackly, golden sugar crust on top. Nobody agrees on the name; one story says a cook called it 'jes' pie'. Chef's tip: the cornmeal and vinegar aren't optional; they stop the very sweet custard from being cloying and help it set.
Sweet tea is the house wine of the South, poured by the jug at every barbecue joint, meat-and-three and Sunday lunch from South Carolina to Texas. Strong black tea is sweetened while hot so the sugar dissolves completely, then cooled and poured over plenty of ice with lemon. A pinch of bicarbonate is an old trick that softens bitterness and keeps it clear. Chef's tip: let the tea cool to room temperature before chilling; putting it straight in the fridge hot makes it go cloudy.
Boiled peanuts are sold steaming from roadside stands and petrol stations all along the back roads of South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama, ladled into paper bags in late summer when the green peanut harvest comes in. Raw peanuts are simmered for hours in heavily salted water until soft as cooked beans, salty and earthy. A Cajun-spiced version with chilli is popular too. Chef's tip: taste a peanut every hour; they are done when the kernel is completely soft with no crunch.
Tomato pie is the high-summer lunch of the Carolinas and Virginia, made when the ripe tomatoes are piling up on the windowsill. Salted, drained tomato slices are layered in a pastry case with basil and spring onion, then covered with a rich topping of cheddar and mayonnaise that bakes golden and bubbly. It is best warm or at room temperature with a green salad. Choose a vegetarian cheddar if needed, as traditional cheddar uses animal rennet. Chef's tip: salting and draining the tomatoes is the difference between a sliceable pie and a soggy one.
Boston brown bread is the dark, moist loaf New England families steam in a tin can and slice next to a pot of Saturday-night baked beans. It mixes rye flour, wholemeal and cornmeal with buttermilk and molasses, so it is sweet, slightly sour and almost cake-like, with no yeast and no oven. Eat it warm with butter or cream cheese. Chef's tip: steam it in clean food tins or a pudding basin covered tightly with buttered foil, because any steam that gets in makes the top soggy.
Anadama is a cornmeal and molasses sandwich loaf from the fishing towns of Rockport and Gloucester on Cape Ann, where it was sold from bakery vans for generations. The cornmeal is cooked into a mush first, which keeps the crumb soft and gives it a gentle sweetness and a golden colour. It makes excellent toast with butter and jam. Chef's tip: let the cornmeal mush cool to lukewarm before adding the yeast, or the heat will kill it.
Johnnycakes are Rhode Island's own cornmeal pancakes, cooked on a griddle at diners and church breakfasts from Narragansett to Westerly, and argued over across the state line. They are made with stone-ground white cornmeal scalded with boiling water, so there is no flour or egg, and they come out crisp and lacy outside and soft within. Serve with butter and maple syrup. Chef's tip: let the scalded batter rest for 10 minutes so the cornmeal swells; skipping the rest gives gritty cakes.
Indian pudding is the old colonial dessert of Massachusetts and Connecticut, still on the menu at historic Boston taverns and at autumn church suppers. Cornmeal, then called Indian meal, is cooked in milk with molasses, ginger and cinnamon and baked very slowly until it turns dark, soft and spoonable, a bit like a spiced polenta custard. Serve it warm with vanilla ice cream melting on top. Chef's tip: pour cold milk over the top halfway through baking; it makes the soft, whey-like layer the dish is known for.
Despite the name, Boston cream pie is a cake: two layers of butter sponge with a thick vanilla pastry cream between them and dark chocolate glaze poured over the top. It was created at the Parker House hotel in Boston in the 1850s and is now the official dessert of Massachusetts, served at birthdays and diners across the state. Chef's tip: chill the filled cake for 30 minutes before glazing so the custard sets and the layers don't slide.
Whoopie pies are Maine's official state treat and a lunchbox favourite in Pennsylvania Dutch country too; you find them wrapped in cling film by the till at petrol stations and bake sales all over New England. Two domed, soft chocolate cakes hold a thick, fluffy white filling. This filling is a meringue buttercream, so there's no gelatine-based marshmallow. Chef's tip: pipe or scoop the batter in even mounds and leave room, as they spread to 8 cm.
In August the barrens of Down East Maine turn blue with lowbush blueberries, smaller and more intense than the cultivated kind, and every diner and county fair sells this pie. The filling is just berries, sugar, lemon and a little thickener under a buttery double crust, so it tastes of fruit rather than spice. Frozen wild blueberries work well all year. Chef's tip: bake until the juices bubble thickly through the vents in the centre, not just the edges; that is when the thickener has worked.
On autumn weekends the orchards of Vermont, New Hampshire and the Hudson Valley fry cider doughnuts by the hundred for families who come to pick apples. Fresh, cloudy apple cider (unfiltered apple juice, not the alcoholic kind) is boiled down to a syrup so the tender cake doughnut tastes of apple, then rolled hot in cinnamon sugar. Chef's tip: keep the oil at 180 °C with a thermometer; cooler oil makes greasy doughnuts and hotter oil burns them before the middle cooks.
These soft, folded rolls come from the Parker House hotel in Boston, where bakers in the 1870s brushed rounds of milk dough with butter and folded them in half like a pocket book. They are the bread basket at New England Thanksgiving tables, pulling apart in tender layers. Chef's tip: fold each round slightly off centre, so the top half overhangs a little; it keeps them from springing open in the oven.
Philadelphians eat more soft pretzels than anyone in America, bought by the dozen from corner bakeries in the morning and from street vendors with yellow mustard. The Philly pretzel is shaped like a figure eight and baked touching its neighbours, so you tear them apart in a row with soft sides. A bath in a bicarbonate solution gives the brown, chewy skin. Chef's tip: bake the bicarbonate of soda first; it makes it more alkaline and gives a darker, more pretzel-like crust.
Bananas Foster was invented in the 1950s at a family restaurant in the French Quarter, when New Orleans was the main port for bananas from Central America, and it is still flamed at the table there for birthday dinners. Bananas are cooked in butter, brown sugar and cinnamon, then flambéed with dark rum and banana liqueur and spooned over vanilla ice cream. It contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version replace the rum and liqueur with 4 tbsp orange juice and a few drops of rum flavouring and skip the flaming. Chef's tip: use bananas that are ripe but still firm, or they turn to mush.
Maque choux (say 'mock shoe') is a Cajun side of fresh corn smothered with the 'holy trinity' of onion, celery and green pepper, made in the bayou country of south-west Louisiana when the corn comes in during June and July. Cooks scrape the cobs for their milk and simmer everything with butter and a splash of cream until sweet and silky. Many add bacon; this version is meat-free. Serve with rice and beans or grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: let the corn catch slightly on the bottom of the pan before stirring; those browned bits are the flavour.
Chow-chow is the end-of-summer pickle of Pennsylvania Dutch kitchens, a way of using up the last beans, peppers, cauliflower and green tomatoes before the frost. It is one of the 'seven sweets and seven sours' set out on Lancaster farm tables, bright with mustard seed and turmeric, sweet and sharp, and good with cheese, bean dishes and sandwiches. Chef's tip: cut every vegetable to roughly the size of a kidney bean so it cooks evenly and looks right in the jar.
Red beet eggs are on the table at every Pennsylvania Dutch church picnic and Easter lunch, a jar of shocking-pink eggs sitting in the same sweet-sour brine as the pickled beets. The whites take on colour and tang from the outside in, while the yolks stay creamy. Slice them on a salad or eat them whole with a pinch of salt. Chef's tip: two days in the brine gives a thin pink ring; leave them four days for colour almost to the yolk.
Pepper cabbage is the oil-free, vinegar-dressed slaw served alongside chicken pot pie and roast pork dinners in Berks and Lancaster counties, and at fire-hall suppers all over south-eastern Pennsylvania. Finely shredded cabbage is tossed with sweet peppers, celery seed, sugar and vinegar, so it is crisp, cold and sweet-sharp. Chef's tip: shred the cabbage as fine as you can; thick ribbons never soak up the dressing.
Funnel cake started in Pennsylvania Dutch kitchens and became the smell of every American county fair and boardwalk, from the Kutztown Folk Festival to the Jersey shore. A thin batter is poured through a funnel in loops into hot oil, so it fries into a crisp, lacy, golden nest that you tear apart with your fingers under a snowfall of icing sugar. Chef's tip: keep your finger over the funnel until it is right over the oil, then move in quick overlapping circles from the centre out.
Gooey butter cake is a St. Louis institution, sold in squares at south-side German bakeries and baked for church coffee hours and Christmas mornings. Legend says a baker in the 1930s got his proportions wrong and the mistake sold out. A thin, chewy yeast-free cake base is covered with a sweet cream cheese and butter layer that bakes into a crackly, shiny top over a gooey middle. Chef's tip: take it out while the centre still jiggles; the goo is the point, and an overbaked one is just a sweet sponge.
Buckeyes are the sweet of Ohio, made by the tray for Christmas cookie swaps and for Ohio State football parties, because they look like the glossy brown nuts of the state's buckeye tree. A firm, sweet peanut butter fondant is rolled into balls and dipped in chocolate, leaving a pale circle on top. Chef's tip: freeze the balls for 20 minutes before dipping; warm ones slide off the stick and muddy the chocolate.
Kringle came to Racine, Wisconsin, with Danish bakers in the 1800s, and the town's bakeries still ship thousands of these flat oval pastry rings at Christmas. Thin layers of buttery laminated dough wrap a pecan and brown sugar filling, and the top is glazed with white icing. It is the official state pastry, eaten with coffee at breakfast. Chef's tip: keep the dough and butter cold at every fold; if the butter melts into the dough you lose the flaky layers.
Wild rice is the seed of a lake grass that the Ojibwe people of northern Minnesota still harvest by canoe in late summer, and this creamy soup is on every lunch counter and church cookbook in the Twin Cities when the weather turns cold. The long black grains split open and turn chewy and nutty in a velvety broth with mushrooms, carrots and celery. Many versions add chicken; this one is vegetarian. Chef's tip: cook the wild rice separately and add it at the end, or it soaks up all the soup.
Garlic noodles were made famous by a Vietnamese family restaurant in San Francisco's Sunset District in the 1970s, served next to roast Dungeness crab, and now every Bay Area Vietnamese place has its own version. Springy noodles are tossed in a glossy sauce of lots of butter and garlic with a savoury, sweet seasoning and grated hard cheese. Restaurants use oyster and fish sauce; this vegetarian version uses vegetarian mushroom 'oyster' sauce and soy. Parmesan is made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: cook the garlic gently until pale gold, never brown, or the whole dish turns bitter.
Gilroy, south of San José, calls itself the garlic capital of the world, and its summer garlic festival made these fries famous; today they are sold at Bay Area baseball games too. Crisp, double-fried chips are tossed while hot with raw garlic softened in olive oil and a lot of parsley, so they are pungent and fresh. Chef's tip: toss the garlic on at the end, off the heat; garlic fried with the chips burns and turns bitter.
Every autumn Pennsylvania Dutch families once gathered round a copper kettle in the yard to stir 'lattwarick', apple butter, all day over a wood fire. There is no butter in it: apples and cider are cooked down for hours until the sugars caramelise into a thick, glossy, deep brown spread. It is eaten on bread with cottage cheese, a combination Lancaster calls 'smearcase and apple butter'. Chef's tip: it is done when a spoonful on a cold plate holds its shape and no ring of liquid seeps out.
Philadelphia's sticky buns descend from the 'schnecken' of German bakers, and Reading Terminal Market still sells them warm by the tray, glistening with caramel and pecans. Soft rolls of cinnamon-raisin dough are baked on top of butter and brown sugar, then flipped so the hot caramel runs down over them. Chef's tip: turn them out within 5 minutes of leaving the oven; once the caramel cools it glues the buns to the tin.
In Lehigh and Berks counties no Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner comes without potato filling, sometimes called potato stuffing: buttery mashed potato folded with toasted bread cubes, celery, onion and parsley, then baked until the top crisps. It is soft and savoury, rich enough to stand in for gravy. Chef's tip: dry the bread cubes in the oven first so they hold their shape instead of turning to paste.
At Amish smorgasbords and family-style restaurants around Intercourse and Bird-in-Hand, buttered noodles are passed round the table with mashed potatoes as though nobody had heard of choosing one starch. Wide, thick egg noodles are tossed with butter cooked until nutty and brown and a handful of toasted breadcrumbs. Chef's tip: take the butter off the heat the moment it smells of hazelnuts and the specks turn tan; seconds later it burns.
Apple stack cake is the old mountain wedding cake of eastern Kentucky and Tennessee: legend has it neighbours each brought a layer, and the bride's popularity was judged by the height. Six thin, biscuit-like layers flavoured with sorghum or molasses and ginger are stacked with a thick filling of cooked dried apples, then left for two days so the layers soften into a moist, spiced cake. Chef's tip: don't cut it the day you make it; the resting time is part of the recipe.
Chocolate gravy is a Sunday-morning treat in the hills of Arkansas, Tennessee and eastern Kentucky, passed down in mountain families who made it from pantry staples. It is a glossy, pourable cocoa pudding cooked in a skillet and ladled over split biscuits with a pat of butter, something between breakfast and dessert. Chef's tip: whisk the cocoa, sugar and flour together before the milk goes in, so there are no lumps.
Soup beans, a pot of brown pintos simmered all afternoon until the broth turns thick and creamy, are the everyday supper of the coal-country hollows of Kentucky and West Virginia, served with cornbread, raw onion and chow-chow. Most mountain cooks add a ham hock or salt pork; this meat-free pot gets its savour from browned onion, garlic and a little smoked paprika. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of beans against the pot side near the end to thicken the 'pot likker'.
In the South a biscuit is not a cookie but a tall, tender, flaky quick bread, baked every morning in kitchens from Georgia to Tennessee and split open for butter and sorghum, sawmill gravy or a slice of country ham. Cold butter and buttermilk, a light hand and a hot oven give layers that pull apart in steamy flakes. Chef's tip: press the cutter straight down without twisting; twisting seals the edges and stops them rising.
Southern cornbread is baked in a smoking-hot cast-iron skillet so the edges fry crisp and brown, and in much of the Deep South it is made with little or no sugar, unlike the cakey Northern kind. It goes on the table with greens, pinto beans and barbecue, and leftovers get crumbled into a glass of buttermilk. Chef's tip: the batter must sizzle loudly when it hits the pan; if it doesn't, the skillet isn't hot enough for a crust.
Salt-rising bread was baked by settlers in the Appalachian mountains of West Virginia and western Pennsylvania who had no yeast; a starter of potato, cornmeal and milk is kept very warm until wild bacteria make it bubble. The loaf is dense, fine-textured and famous for its cheesy, tangy smell, and is best toasted and buttered. Chef's tip: the starter needs a steady 38–40 °C, so stand it in an oven with only the light on, and check it is truly bubbling before going on.
Pecans grow wild along the rivers of Georgia, Alabama and Texas, and pecan pie, a gooey brown-sugar custard packed with toasted nuts, is the star of Thanksgiving tables right across the South. This version uses golden syrup and dark brown sugar for a caramel flavour. Chef's tip: toast the pecans first; raw pecans taste flat and go soft in the filling.
Every Creole restaurant in New Orleans, from neighbourhood po'boy shops to grand old dining rooms in the Garden District, serves bread pudding, because the city's light, crusty French bread goes stale in a day. The bread soaks in a cinnamon custard with raisins and bakes until puffed and golden, then gets a warm whiskey butter sauce. The sauce contains bourbon; for an alcohol-free version use 3 tbsp apple juice and 1 tsp vanilla instead. Chef's tip: let the bread soak for a full 30 minutes so it drinks up the custard; dry patches bake hard.
Texas sheet cake is the big, thin chocolate cake that turns up at church potlucks, funerals and family reunions all over Texas, cut into squares straight from the tray. It is made with buttermilk and boiled cocoa butter, so it is moist and light, and the icing is poured over while the cake is still hot so it sets into a fudgy layer studded with pecans. Chef's tip: have the icing ready the moment the cake leaves the oven; warm cake plus warm icing is the whole secret.
Kolaches came to central Texas with Czech settlers in the 1800s, and the bakeries along the highway through West, Caldwell and Hallettsville now sell them by the dozen for breakfast. They are soft, sweet yeast buns with a well pressed into the top, filled with apricot, cherry, prune or sweetened cream cheese and dusted with a crumbly posypka topping. Chef's tip: press the well deep and wide, nearly to the base, or the buns rise and push the filling out.
Ask for 'red or green?' in any New Mexico café and red means this sauce, made from the sun-dried chile pods that hang in long ristras outside adobe houses in Chimayó and Hatch every autumn. The pods are toasted, soaked and blended into a smooth, brick-red sauce that is earthy and gently sweet rather than smoky, poured over enchiladas, eggs, beans and burritos. Chef's tip: toast the pods for only a few seconds a side; burnt chile makes the sauce bitter.
Fried cheese curds are what Wisconsin eats at supper clubs, ballparks and the State Fair in West Allis every August: fresh, squeaky cheddar curds dipped in a light batter and fried until the cheese just starts to melt and stretch. Many bars use a beer batter; this one uses sparkling water for the same lightness without alcohol. Serve with ranch dressing or marinara. Fresh curds are traditionally made with animal rennet, so look for curds or a young cheddar labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: fry straight from the fridge; cold curds stay intact while the batter crisps.
Deep-dish pizza was born in Chicago's River North in the 1940s and is still the dish visitors queue for downtown: a tall, flaky, buttery crust baked in a steel pan, filled with a thick layer of mozzarella and vegetables, and finished with chunky crushed tomato on top so the cheese doesn't burn during the long bake. You eat it with a knife and fork. Mozzarella is often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one. Chef's tip: laminate the dough with soft butter and roll it up like a cinnamon roll; that is what gives the crust its flaky, biscuit-like layers.
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